


play nice

by mysterymistakes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Academy Era, Anal Sex, Biting, Canon Compliant, M/M, Marking, Mating Press, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sylvain, Rough Sex, d/s dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26312569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterymistakes/pseuds/mysterymistakes
Summary: “Syl, what-” he starts to say, but Sylvain stuffs his mouth full of tongue. His hands are twisted into the front of Felix’s uniform shirt, bending and wrinkling the fine embroidery and stressing the buttons. Sylvain’s chest is burning. He’s shaking like he’s had a brush with death and his breath comes in ravaged, staccato bursts. Felix squirms under him- the soft noises that spill from where their lips tangle stoke the fire that threatens to consume him whole. He shoves a thigh between Felix’s legs.Someone has been trying to court Felix. He’s never been this angry in his life.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 283





	play nice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tacit_ronin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacit_ronin/gifts).



Sylvain has Felix slammed against the wall of his bedroom before the door shuts.

“Syl, _what-_ ” he starts to say, but Sylvain stuffs his mouth full of tongue. His hands are twisted into the front of Felix’s uniform shirt, bending and wrinkling the fine embroidery and stressing the buttons. Sylvain’s chest is _burning._ He’s shaking like he’s had a brush with death and his breath comes in ravaged, staccato bursts. Felix squirms under him- the soft noises that spill from where their lips tangle stoke the fire that threatens to consume him whole. He shoves a thigh between Felix’s legs.

Someone has been trying to court Felix. He’s never been this angry in his life.

A fool from Itha territory, a small house pinned between Gautier, Blaiddyd and Fraldarius; Sylvain doesn’t care to acknowledge him with a name. He laves biting kisses down the side of Felix’s neck, teeth digging in hard enough to pull droplets of ruby-red to the surface and guarantee he’ll have to wear his collar closed for weeks. Or, maybe he won’t, and that smarmy bastard, that good-for-nothing weasel will have to look upon Felix’s neck, have the evidence of ownership rubbed into him so hard it’ll leave friction burns. The thought of it makes Sylvain smile.

Weak moans dribble from Felix’s lips. Sylvain peels him from where he’s slumped against the stone and tosses him onto the bed like an errant shirt. _So light,_ Sylvain thinks. _So easy._ He’s practically snarling when he straddles Felix. He pins those slim hips to the bed under his weight, takes Felix’s jaw into one of his hands to bring him back into another bruising kiss, teething at Felix’s lower lip hard enough that it splits. There are tears gathering at the corner of Felix’s eyes now, as there often are whenever he’s overwhelmed by something, whenever he’s _vulnerable._ They’re salty on Sylvain’s tongue where he kisses them away. He loves to be the only one that knows this Felix. He’s the _only one_ that knows this Felix.

“Sylvain, what has gotten into you?” Felix demands. _Cute,_ Sylvain thinks. He always looks good like this, flushed and panting beneath Sylvain. _Mine._ He doesn’t answer and divests Felix of his shirt.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to answer the question. He could spin it with ease, take the jealousy and hatred and all the disgusting truths of _what’s gotten into him_ and turn them into something palatable. He could even say that nothing’s really gotten into him, because that’s true, too; all of this has always been there, running amok beneath the surface, and someone had finally, foolishly, cast a line too far out. There’s even a part of him that would relish in giving Felix an actual answer, to pause in pulling sweet noises from those bloodied lips and say _you need a reminder of who you belong to_. No, Sylvain supposes from where he’s kneading harshly at Felix’s pecs, pinching his puffy, sensitive nipples with a vengeance and allowing Felix’s whole-body shudders to drive him into a frenzy. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to answer the question. It’s that he has no idea if Felix knows what was going on, and he cannot allow such a seed to be sown. He will not let Felix even begin to think that there could be anyone else for him. Carving himself into Felix instead of giving an answer seems a good solution.

This is the price he pays, perhaps, for letting Felix talk him into keeping their relationship on the quieter side. He closes his lips around a nipple and lets Felix’s hands bury themselves in his hair. 

It started about a month ago. Yes, he remembers it quite clearly- someone had left a package of very fine smoked meats outside of Felix’s door, dolled up with a red ribbon and very clearly a courting gift. Initially, everyone had thought it from the Professor. It seemed in character, something just odd enough for someone to take note of it but small enough not to arouse real suspicion. Then, Sylvain had thought it one of Dimitri’s attempts at reparations. Those had been increasing in frequency as of late, more time spent at the training grounds and inching ever-closer in the dining hall, but he’d been just as surprised as Sylvain to see that little package, and, quite frankly, if Dimitri were any good at the art of deception, he wouldn’t need to be making attempts to put pieces back together. By the time Sylvain had sniffed out the culprit, though, more gifts had appeared at Felix’s door. Flowers, sword oil. Imported books on unusual fighting technique and finely wrought weights. They made Sylvain sick. But, he’d kept his mouth closed. The meats got eaten and the oils got used, but Felix had shown no signs of understanding _what they were._

House Itha no longer has much of a claim to anything. From what Sylvain understands, they were originally the protectors of the border with Sreng, many years ago, but nowadays they’re infamous for marrying out into families with Crests. Sylvain has long found himself disgusted by them. Each time his father would come back from Fhirdiad, dressed in court finery with his nose turned up and his eyes cast down, he’d tell Sylvain how lucky he was, how this gift from the Goddess had raised him well above the rest. Just before he’d gone off to the Academy, some months after Miklan had turned coat (something that Sylvain will never, truly, be able to blame him for), the Margrave had sat him down and run through the list of students for the upcoming year. _That Itha boy,_ Sylvain recalls his father saying in that loathsomely prideful, condescending way he has, _I hear he’s been sent with special instruction to… make connections. You understand what that means, don’t you, Sylvain?_ Sylvain had wondered if his father thought him stupid. _Well, I can hardly blame them. Crestless. Had I not been blessed with you, my dear son, I’m sure I would’ve done the same._

And now, that parasite was trying to latch itself to Felix. Felix, so steadfast and loyal, who wears his heart on his sleeve no matter how hard he tries to black it out. Felix, who cares so much for the people he loves that it runs him to ruin, drives him to train until his muscles give and joints beg for mercy. Felix, who wrinkles his nose at the smell of lemon but begrudgingly offers his help to the kitchen staff anyways. Felix, whom Sylvain loves more than anything. Sylvain slides down his body, sucks more marks into that soft skin as until he lands at the lacings of Felix’s pants. His hands hover over them, and he looks up to search for approval. 

Felix is _gorgeous._ He’s splayed out on Sylvain’s bed, hair falling out of its little bun and spilling around him like ink, staining the sheets and dripping down his shoulders. The shorter pieces stick to his sweaty face. A blush rages across it, rips red across the tops of those sharp cheekbones, over his nose and doubtlessly onto his ears. There are angry imprints of Sylvain’s teeth running a course from the column of his neck all the way down to the curve of his waist. He relishes in being the one to take Felix apart like this, to wrench away that spitfire shell and expose the soft vulnerability beneath. Felix’s eyes are glassy when he looks down from his place at the top of the bed, framed by headboard and pillows and the very picture of Sylvain’s every fantasy.

“Why’d you stop?” he grumbles. The complaint is undercut by the strain of his voice, high and lilting and it comes out almost as a moan. He shoves his hands into Sylvain’s to spur him on.

“Just making sure,” Sylvain muses, making quick, practiced work of Felix’s remaining clothes. He smooths his hands up those toned thighs and runs his thumbs reverently across some of the silvery scars littering his skin. _Making sure you never think of anyone but me._

“Making sure of what?” It almost makes Sylvain laugh. Felix’s tone is so full of feigned petulance, but everything Sylvain needs to know is written into the way he twitches at every touch, how his cock is hard against his stomach and eager to start leaking, heard loud and clear in the deep breaths that rattle in and out of Felix’s lungs. His pauses are but a politeness; he wants to eat Felix _alive_.

“I dunno,” Sylvain says. Everything between the lines has been left on Felix’s skin. “Making sure you want it.” He takes one of Felix’s thighs in hand, spreads him open and starts leaving hot, wet kisses that trail up from his knee. 

“Are you dumb?” Felix pants, “Of _course_ I want you.” The edges of Sylvain’s lips curl deviously. He sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of Felix’s inner thigh to feel the way he tenses before pulling back to kiss gently over it, almost like an apology, but neither of them are at all sorry for it. Sylvain knows this. He continues up until he’s met with the underside of Felix’s cock. His tongue traces along the vein and pulls a full-body shiver out of Felix, whose thighs tense under Sylvain’s hands as he works his way up to the pink, leaking head. He kisses the top of it, long and slow and teasing before sinking down, and Felix makes a noise like he’s going to spend right there. 

The sword, really, had been the final nail in the coffin. 

Sylvain had sniffed out his target by the time the third present (a book of _flower poems,_ for Sothis’s sake; if you’re going to court someone, you should know better than to gift them something that they’ll just use as expensive kindling) had made its appearance. It had been painfully obvious, once he’d opened his eyes and taken a good, hard _look._ Now, there was always the same head of hair where there hadn’t been one before, always just out of sight, just out of reach, trying desperately to catch Felix’s eye. Sylvain isn’t dumb. It wouldn’t have been worth his time to confront the offender directly- after all, he had never actually _talked_ to Felix, nor had he left a name on any of the rotted gifts outside Felix’s door, and Sylvain really wasn’t keen on the possibility of exposing their relationship- so he went straight to the top. He’d broken out his pen and ink, his good parchment and even his wax seal, and started writing. 

_Greetings, Lord Rodrigue._ _I hope this message finds you well._

By the end of that moon, gifts had begun to pile outside Felix’s door, untouched and even scorned. The Itha heir had been called back home on “urgent business” and Felix had done away with the things that weren’t of immediate use to him.

And then, this morning, immediately after training and just before class, a gorgeous sword appeared at Felix’s door, wrapped in the same stupid red ribbon all the other gifts had been- a gaudy, last-ditch effort at appealing to the one thing that everybody knew Felix to be weak for. That was _it._ Sylvain had taken the damned thing, dropped it in the pond to sink to the bottom and rot, and stormed off to find Felix. _His_ Felix. No one else’s. 

His Felix, who is whining so sweetly, hands pulling at Sylvain’s hair so hard that he can feel his scalp straining under the pressure as he sucks him down. 

“S… _Syl,_ please,” he begs. It goes straight to Sylvain’s cock, achingly hard and trapped in his own uniform pants. “ _Please._ ” Sylvain pulls off of him with a lewd _pop!_ that sends a shiver up Felix’s spine. He whines again, pushes against Sylvain’s head. 

“Please, what?” Sylvain watches Felix’s cock twitch and leak out a single pearly drop of precum as his breath ghosts across it. Teasing Felix is Sylvain’s absolute favorite thing to do. He’s so cute when he twists and turns, fists into the sheets and scrunches his face up to avoid saying what he wants. It’s even better, though, when his head is so far in the clouds that he doesn’t care anymore, so he cries and begs for Sylvain, for his hands, his cock, his mouth. Sylvain loves to fuck the fight right out of him. 

“You know what I want,” he bites out. It makes Sylvain laugh, chuckle warm and deep as he kisses the insides of Felix’s thighs. “You won’t- _mmh-_ won’t make me say it.” 

“Is that so?” says Sylvain. A thumb wanders into the middle of a bitten bruise and presses hard. Felix’s eyes squeeze shut. His back curves off the bed in a lovely arc. “I really don’t.” _Yes, I do. You want me to fuck you until you cry._ “Do you want me to use my hands?” He ghosts a palm over Felix’s leaking cock. “Or, do you want me to open you up on my fingers? I know you love it when I stuff you full, Fe. You make the best sounds when I do.” Felix’s hole flexes and flutters where Sylvain runs the tip of his index finger teasingly across it. He can see the sheets pull taught up past Felix’s hips. _There we go,_ Sylvain thinks, _now he’s getting frustrated._ “I could blow you until you come in my mouth and then fuck your face.” He licks a single stripe up Felix’s cock and relishes in how it makes his lips drop open. _I wonder what it would take to make him drool?_ “I could eat you out and then fuck your thighs, but, I think you’re right, Fe.” Sylvain pulls himself up from where he’s sat between Felix’s legs. He brackets his arms around Felix’s flushed, sweaty chest to drop his head down so he’s speaking low into Felix’s ear. “I think,” he murmurs, and he can feel Felix’s hot breath landing in desperate puffs on his neck, “you want me to fuck you. Is that what you want, Felix? Do you want me to fuck you until you beg and cry? Open you up and spear you on my cock? You make me feel so _good,_ Felix, but you have to tell me if that’s what you want.” He grinds down evilly. Felix makes a noise, something like a word, but not quite there yet. “What was that?” Sylvain whispers. He bites down gently on the lobe of Felix’s ear. “I didn’t hear you.” Felix’s whole body tenses, fights it, clings to that last shred of defiance, but Sylvain moves his hips again and it’s over. 

“Yes,” Felix whispers. “Please.” His voice goes soft, and it _rages_ through Sylvain, who has already slipped a hand beneath the pillows to retrieve a vial of oil. It takes every last ounce of his strength not to just split Felix open and take what he wants. Instead, he grips hard at the sheets and plants gentle kisses in the hollow beneath his ear. 

“Yes to what, Fe?” 

“Please, _ah!_ ” he gasps, and it’s so sweet, so intoxicating. He swallows hard. Sylvain tells him how well he’s doing, lets Felix take his time even though his cock is _so_ hard that he’s almost dizzy with the want to be inside _._ “Please,” he says again, and then, _finally,_ “fuck me, Sylvain.” Sylvain nips delicately at the underside of Felix’s chin before coming up to kiss him long and slow. 

“Thank you, Fe.” He can’t help the sly smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth when Felix nods eagerly. “I’m gonna make you feel _so good._ ” He takes his place back between Felix’s thighs and slicks up a finger, presses it in with ease. Felix is tight, velvety-hot around him as he gently fucks him loose. It’s one finger, and then another, and little moans bubble out of Felix’s mouth as Sylvain opens him up. He shakes like a leaf when Sylvain brushes past his prostate, makes a sound so delicious that Sylvain feels himself stain his smalls a bit. Felix tenses up around the third finger, wrinkles his brow and shifts, but it quickly dissolves into wanton whines and _please, Sylvain._

“Ready?” Sylvain asks, not that he needs to. He’s bursting at the seams with the need to be inside Felix, to claim him from the inside out and make him his _,_ again and again and again until there’s no room left for anyone else. The relief when he pulls his cock out is almost euphoric. 

“Yes,” Felix moans, “please, Sylvain, just _fuck me already!_ ” 

Sylvain has never been readier to oblige something in his life. He slicks up his cock, lines up with Felix’s hole, and pushes in. Tight, wet heat surrounds him like a dense fog and he groans, barely present enough of mind to watch Felix’s face as he’s filled. It’s _gorgeous._ His head is pressed back into the pillows, mouth open and moans spilling freely from those pink, plush lips, eyes closed and neck bared. Sylvain pauses for a second when he bottoms out. His brain is a mess of _Felix, Felix, Felix, mine, mine mine._ He kisses down Felix’s sternum as he tries to collect himself. “Flames, Fe, you’re so tight. Always so good for me.” He rolls his hips to test the waters, and when Felix tries to fuck himself down on his cock, he pulls out and slams back in. 

Felix _wails_ ; his pleasure is a full-body experience that lifts his back from the bed, makes him scrabble helplessly against the sheets as he’s fucked, and it spurs Sylvain on like nothing else. He takes Felix by the ankles, folds his legs up over his head and drives down relentlessly into his prostate. Fat, crystalline tears drop down Felix’s cheeks to soak into Sylvain’s sheets. “Felix, Felix, Felix,” Sylvain chants as he races towards the precipice, “all _mine._ So good. Only for me.” 

It pushes Felix over the edge. He spills white all across his bare, bruised torso and onto Sylvain’s shirt. Sylvain isn’t far behind, especially not when Felix tightens around him like that and whimpers so nicely at the overwhelming feeling of Sylvain still dragging in and out of him. One, two, three more thrusts and Sylvain buries himself deep, stains Felix from the inside, claims him as his own.

Gently, Sylvain eases Felix’s legs down onto the bed and slides out to collapse beside him, running a hand through dark, sweaty hair. Felix, wordlessly, pushes Sylvain’s arm until it’s wrapped around him, and nuzzles into his chest, one dainty hand pressed over Sylvain’s heart. 

_Mine._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much to katie for the commission, and thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> i can be found on [twitter](https://twitter.com/mysterymistakes)


End file.
